Cross My Heart
by Gail Lucinda Autor
Summary: Alex and Izzie's wedding night. Songfic  kind of  for Coldplay's Fix You. No smut. One-shot. Bad summary. R&R!


**Hey all. So…I don't own Grey's. And I don't own this song (Fix You by Coldplay). That is my disclaimer. **

**Enjoy the Alex/Izzie love **

She's never been kissed like this before.

It's strange, really, the way he moves, the way he breathes, the way his lips are rough and somehow gentle at the same time and the slight shadow that so sweetly adorns the lower half of his face scrapes like soft sandpaper on her skin. The tiny kisses he presses to her neck, her jaw, her collarbone, and the way his mouth glides across her face, her body.

Fine. She has been kissed somewhat similarly to this before.

But hey, she wasn't married before. So it doesn't count.

He's lying beside her on the hospital bed, doing these things to her, tugging down the shoulder of her hospital gown to kiss the smooth, bare skin there. The IO2 has her feeling like shit, but the hand moving steadily from her waist to hip, up and down, up and down, smooth circles, is as good a distraction as any.

It's not exactly your average wedding night, and God only knows when they'll be able to consecrate the marriage. But it seems to her they've had sex enough times to make up for skipping one night. A tiny part of her longs faintly, like a whisper, to unbutton his shirt and his pants and do it again, then and there. If only she had the strength.

"Iz?" His voice is rough, and his breath comes maybe a little faster than usual. But she knows he has no intention of crossing the line. Tonight is a gentle night, a sweet night. It's a love night, not a _making _love night.

"Alex." Her voice is sleepy, but not weary. She sounds utterly content and very close to dreamland.

"Did you…want…to do this?" His eyes lock onto hers, afraid. Alex Karev, afraid? Good God.

"Yes," she whispers, taking his hand and holding it as if she'll never let go.

"It's not just because…" His fingers brush against the tape where her IV is stuck into her.

"I said 'I do', Alex. And I do," she insists. Her voice is a tiny bit more awake now, and very firm.

"I need you to say it," he begs. He grips her hand, his thumb pressing hard circles into her palm.

She reaches out with her free hand. It shakes slightly, but she rests it on the back of his neck, cups his jaw, grips his shoulder.

"I love you."

He looks near tears as he kisses her cheek and whispers back, "I love you, too."

She smiles a sleepy smile. "Sing that song for me, Alex." She remembers very well the time she walked in on him singing along to his iPod—not a sight she'd have expected of him. But it was just one of the reasons she allowed their relationship to become more than sex.

Alex Karev had one hell of a voice, and it had melted her heart.

He sighs softly. "Iz, do I have to?"

She laughs a little. "I am your wife, mister. Do what I tell you. Please?"

He rolls his eyes and leans in closer. The words fall gently from his mouth in a deep, rich voice, rough and gentle, just like his kisses:

"_When you try your best but you don't succeed_

_When you get what you want but not what you need_

_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep_

_Stuck in reverse."_

She smiles again, closes her eyes.

He swallows a lump in his throat and sings on.

"_And the tears come streaming down your face_

_When you lose something you can't replace_

_When you love someone but it goes to waste_

_Could it be worse?"_

He reaches the chorus. Her eyes are still closed, but her lips part and she sings the words with him:

"_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_And I will try to fix you."_

He is choking back tears as he brings her hand to his lips, kissing it, rubbing it gently. He loves her hands, such nimble hands and long, dexterous fingers, sweet in surgery and in the bedroom—or linen closet, as the case may be. Izzie's hands are her identity, just as his hands are his identity.

A surgeon's soul lives in her hands.

A moment later, he hears her breathing fall into the slow, rhythmic pattern that he recognizes as her sleep.

They are broken, both of them. Damaged goods. Tossed into boxes, thrown around, beaten, sawing their own damn way out with scalpels. Life has not treated them kindly.

But they have each other now, right?

The months, the years ahead…they won't be easy. But for now, his wife is sleeping by his side, and for a moment, he can pretend that all is right with the world.

She can't see now, so he lets the tears fall.

"I will fix you, Isobel Stevens," he whispers. "You will make it through this. _We _will make it through this."

He crosses his heart, the way he used to do when he was a kid. It's a promise now. A done deal.

And with that, he curls himself around her on the bed, lays his chin against her all-too-fragile shoulder, and rests.

He doubts most people get this much sleep on their wedding night.

But then, he and Izzie have never exactly been traditional. 

**Probably my favorite pairing in the whole show, ever. I was so upset when she left. But then, Grey's is ever-changing. I guess it's best that way. Anyways.**


End file.
